"Pretty late," replied O'Brien, "but let's have a try."
He picked up the telephone and almost immediately had Mr. Ridgeway on the wire. After a moment's talk, he took his hat and told Lawrence to follow him. In a taxi, they arrived at Mr. Ridgeway's house and found that gentleman reading in his room.
"That is a very good idea," said Mr. Ridgeway. "Of course if this was merely an affair of those crown jewels, it would be easy to outwit our friends but those jewels mean little or nothing to the man who calls himself Smith. What he wants are the papers. Either he, or someone back of him, is staging a little revolution, I think, and the papers are their most important weapon. Who is Smith? Can't you make a guess, O'Brien?"
O'Brien shook his head. "I can't, sir," he said regretfully. "All I want is some good-luck fairy to point him out to me."
"You will find him, never fear," said Mr. Ridgeway. "You have done too many clever jobs for me to feel worried about this one. Well, Lawrence, I will be glad to have you here with me. When will you come?"
"He is here now," laughed O'Brien. "I take no more chances. I'm like yourself, sir; I'm thinkin' that the matter of these papers is an affair of nations."
Mr. Ridgeway looked grave. "I can only say that the safe transfer of those papers is all that can possibly keep this country out of another war as destructive and as deadly as the last. They have clever spies, and the only thing they have not surmised, guessed at, or proved about this journey is the identity of the pilot. As I said at the first, Lawrence is protected by his youth." The great man sighed. "Lawrence, I wish you were my son!" he said.
"A nice kid," commended O'Brien with a twinkle. "But hard to manage, sir, and tellin' too little."
For four days Lawrence was a guest in the big house, spending most of the time with his host and growing more and more devoted to the kindly, shrewd man. He often repeated his regret that there was no son to carry on his name, and one night in a confidential mood told Lawrence that there had been two little boys.
"But we lost them both when they were scarcely more than babies," he said brokenly. "I cannot talk about it." He stopped and Lawrence, respecting his grief, turned away, not daring to offer the sympathy and affection he felt.